


5 feet apart (choni)

by redsnake



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: 5feetapart, Angst, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff, Hospital, Romance, choni, cystic fibrosis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 07:31:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19883920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redsnake/pseuds/redsnake
Summary: 5 feet apart choni editionCheryl Blossom likes to be in control-even though her totally out of control lungs have sent her in and out of the hospital most of her life. At this point, what Cheryl needs to control most is keeping herself away from anyone or anything that might pass along an infection and jeopardize the possibility of a lung transplant. Five feet apart. No exceptionsFive feet apart ... A certain pink-haired girl might make this a little hard for her





	5 feet apart (choni)

I trace the outline of my brother’s drawing, a beautiful blossom tree. Some of the flowers haven’t blossomed yet, and I can feel the promise of life just waiting to unfold from the tiny buds under the weight of my fingers.

I wonder what it would be like to have lungs this healthy. This alive. I take a deep breath, feeling the air fight its way in and out of my body.

I clear my throat, pulling my hand away, and lean over the grab a picture of us from off my bed. Identical smiles, the holiday lights at the park down the street twinkling above our heads just like the stars in his drawing.

I take a thumbtack and hang the picture next to the drawing before sitting down on my bed and grabbing my pocket notebook and pencil off my bedside table. My eyes travel own the long to-do list I made for myself this morning. Starting with _; #1 plan to-do list_ ,’ which I’ve already put a satisfying line through.

I can now also cross off number _17; decorate wall’_. I look around the room I’ve spent the better part of the morning making my own, once again, the wall now filled with the artwork Jason’s given me through the years, bits if color and life jumping out from clinical white walls, each one a product of a different trip to the hospital.

“Here it is!” a voice calls from just outside my room. I look up as the door slowly creaks open and two familiar faces appear in the small crack of the doorway. Archie and Betty have visited me here a million times in the past decade, and they still can’t get from the lobby to my room without asking every person in the building for directions.

“Wrong room,” I say, grinning as a look of pure relief washes over them

Archie laughs, pushing the door open the rest of the way. “It honestly could’ve been. This place is still a freaking maze,”

“Are you guys excited?” I say, hopping up to give them both hugs.

Betty pulls away to look at me, pouting, her blonde hair practically drooping along with her. “Second trip in a row without you,”

It’s true. This isn’t the first time my cystic fibrosis has take me out of the running for some class trip or sunny vacation, or school event. About 70 percent of the time, things are pretty normal to me. I go to school, I hang out with Archie and Betty. I just do it all with low functioning lungs. But for the remaining 30 percent of my life, CF controls my life. Meaning when I need to return to the hospital for a tune-up, I miss out on things like a class trip.

Archie plunks down on my bed, sighting dramatically as he lies back. “It’s only two weeks. Are you sure you can’t come? It’s our senior trip, Cheryl!”

“I’m sure,” I say firmly.

It’s not like I don’t want to go. It’s just quite literally, a matter of life or death. I can’t go off to Cabo, or anywhere for that matter, and risk not coming back. I can’t do that to my parents. Not now,”

I notice they’re both holding the bags of swim clothes I told them to bring, so I grab Betty’s out of her hand in desperate attempt to change the subject. “Ooh, suit options! We have to pick out the best ones!” Since I’m not going to be basking in the warm Cabo sun in a bathing suit of my choice, I figure I can at least live a little vicariously through my friends by picking out theirs with hem.

* * *

I head over to the wall oxygen, double checking the flow meter is set properly, and listen for the steady hiss of oxygen coming out of it before I pull the tube around my ears and slide the prongs of the cannula into my nose. Sighing, I sink down onto the familiarly uncomfortable hospital mattress, and take a deep breath.

I reach for my pocket notebook to read the next thing on my to-do list; _#18 record a video._

I grab my pencil and bite it thoughtfully as I stare at the words I wrote earlier. Oddly enough, contemplating the afterlife seems easier right now.  
  
But the list is the list, so, exhaling, I reach over to my bedside table to get my laptop, sitting cross-legged on the new floral comforter I picked out yesterday at Target while Archie and Betty were buying clothes for Cabo.

I frown at the mess of long red hair and try to smooth it down, running my fingers through it over and over. Frustrated, I pull my hair tie off my wrist and resort to a messy bun in an attempt to look halfway decent for this video.

Logging on to my YouTube Live account, I adjust the webcam, making sure you can see Jason’s lung drawing directly behind me.

“So, I could be getting ready to go on a plane to Cabo for my school’s senior trip, but instead I’ll be spending this holiday at my home away from home, thanks to a mild sore throat.”

I’ve been making YouTube videos for about half that time to raise awareness about cystic fibrosis. Through the years more people than I could have ever imagined began following my surgeries and my treatments and my visits to Saint Grace’s, sticking with me through my awkward braces phase and everything.

‘’My lung function is down to thirty-five percent,” I say. “Dr. Weatherbee says I’m steadily climbing to the top of the transplant list now, so I’ll be here for a month, taking antibiotics, sticking to my regimen . . . .” My eyes travel to the drawing behind me, the healthy lungs looming over my head, just out of reach

I shake my head and smile, leaning over to grab a bottle from the medicine cart. “That means taking my medications on time, wearing my AffloVest to break up that mucus, and”—I hold up the bottle—“a whole lot of this liquid nutrition through my G-tube every night. If any ladies out there are wishing they could eat five thousand calories a day and still have a Cabo-ready beach body, I’m up for a trade.”

I end the live video and exhale slowly, closing the browser to see the smiling, winter-formal-ready faces on my desktop background. Me, Betty, and Archie, arm in arm.

There’s a knock on my door, and it flies open not even a second later as Alice busts in holding an armful of pudding cups for me to take my medication with. “I’m back! Delivery!”  
  
When it comes to Al, not much has changed in the past six months, or the past ten years for that matter; she’s still the best. The same long, blond hair. The same colorful scrubs. The same smile that lights up the entire room.

But then an extremely pregnant Veronica trails behind her, carrying an IV drip.  
  
Now that’s a big change from six months ago.  


I swallow my surprise and grin at Alice as she places the pudding at the edge of my bed for me to sort onto my medicine cart, then pulls out a list to double-check that the cart has everything I need on it.

“What would I do without you?” I ask.

She winks. “You’d die. By the way,” Alice says slowly as Veronica ducks out of the room. Her eyes narrow at me and she gives me a gentle warning look. “I want you to finish your IV drip first, but Kevin’s just checked in to room 310.”

What? Really?” I say, my eyes widening as I move to launch myself out of bed to find him. I can’t believe he didn’t tell me he’d be here.

Alice steps forward, grabbing my shoulders and pushing me gently back down onto the bed before I can fully stand. “What part of ‘I want you to finish your IV drip first’ did you not get?”

I smile sheepishly at her, but how could she blame me? Kevin was the first friend I made when I came to the hospital. He’s the only one who really gets it. We’ve fought CF together for a freaking decade. Well, together from a safe distance, anyway.

We can’t get too close to each other. For cystic fibrosis patients, cross-infection from certain bacteria strains is a huge risk. One touch between two CFers can literally kill the both of them.

Her serious frown gives way to a gentle smile. “Settle in. Relax. Take a chill pill.” She eyes the medicine cart, jokingly. “Not literally.”

I nod, a real laugh spilling out, as a fresh wave of relief fills me at the news of Kevin being here too.

“I’ll stop by later to help you with your AffloVest,” Alice says over her shoulder as she leaves. Grabbing my phone, I settle for a quick text message instead of a mad dash down the hall to room 310.

**You’re here? Me too. Tune-up.**

Not even a second goes by and my screen lights up with Kevin’s reply:

**Bronchitis. Just happened. I’ll live. Come by and wave at me later. Gonna crash now**

* * *

One of the perks of coming here for more than a decade is that I know the hospital just as well as I knew the house I grew up in. Every winding corridor, or hidden staircase, or secret shortcut, explored over and over again.

But before I can open the double doors, a room door swings open next to me, and I turn my head in surprise to see the profile of a beautiful girl I’ve never seen before. She’s standing in the doorway of room 315, holding a sketchbook in one hand and a charcoal pencil in the other, a white hospital bracelet like mine wrapped around her wrist.

I stop dead.

Her long, dark-chocolate-brown-,with some faded pink, hair perfectly falling down her shoulders, like she just popped out of a Teen Vogue and landed smack in the middle of Saint Grace’s Hospital. Her eyes are a dark brown, the corners crinkling as she talks.

But it’s her smile that catches my eye more than anything else. It’s lopsided, and charming, and it has a magnetic warmth to it.

She’s so cute, my lung function feels like it dropped another 10 percent.

It’s a good thing this mask is covering half my face, because I did not plan for cute girls on my floor this hospital stay.

“I’ve clocked their schedules,” She says as she puts the pencil casually behind her ear. I shift slightly to the left and see that she’s grinning at the couple I saw coming into the hospital earlier. “So, unless you plant your ass on the call button, no one’s going to bother you for at least an hour. And don’t forget. I gotta sleep in that bed, dude.”

“Way ahead of you.” I watch as the guy unzips the duffel bag he’s holding to show her blankets.

_Wait. What?_

Cute pink-haired girl whistles. “Look at that. A regular guy Scout.”

“We’re not animals, man,”

Oh my god. Gross! She’s letting her friends do it in her room, like it’s a motel.

I grimace and resume walking down the hallway to the exit doors, putting as much space as possible between me and whatever scheme is going on in there.

So much for cute.


End file.
